At 7:14 the phone rings, and Yao knows exactly who it is. He snatches the ear piece in one sudden movement and attempts not to glare at it. He fails. For a time he does only that, stare at the item with absolute disdain. It cries again, and he shoves it on to his ear - taps the small button.

"The answer is no, Ivan," Yao deadpans in greeting. He walks to the bathroom. His foot falls sound clipped and precise to his ear, and it calms him somewhat.

"But you answered; this is an improvement, yes?"

"If I hadn't you would have woken up the entire household. I don't live alone, as you well know. Be considerate of my family." Yao approaches the mirror, looks at his reflection for a few seconds, trying to remember if that mark on his left cheek has always been there. Was he born with it? He doesn't recall. There are many things he cannot remember.

"Your strays?"

Ivan loves this; seems to give the hulking man some sort of advantage. Ivan has sisters, blood. Yao has something thicker or maybe thinner, but it is not blood - will never be.

"I'm done, Ivan. You're an egotistical drunkard and your upcoming book on my political intrigues is bound to keep you well-stocked of fire water for the rest of your miserable life. So if you don't mind, just dance your way out of my life."

Yao gives up looking at the mark – is it a scar? – and closes his eyes. He tries to calm himself. He's grown a temper over the years – how many has it been now? How old is he these days? Not old enough or too old? It's hard to say – cultivated it, and the blemish seethes and coils and simmers at Ivan's beck and call. Yao hates that.

"But I do mind. That is the problem, you do not listen. We used to be -"

"That has nothing to do with this. If you didn't live in the past with your sunflowers and vodka w- you, wouldn't be having these problems."

Because it's true; Yao is not Ivan. Is not like Ivan – how old are you? – will never be like Ivan. There is a here and there is a now and both require him more – more than what?

"No, you would find something else to be unhappy about. Of this I am sure, comrade."

The last word is emphasized, and it resounds with well hidden malice that Yao is overtly accustomed too. They've never really gotten along, have they? Their shared history – don't use that word – is made up of steely glances, forced pleasure and a color not easily shared – but neither of you have that color do you? What's the use in it any more?

"Bite your tongue. I've no wish to continue speaking with you."

Yao's tone is smooth. Silk to the ears but not to the touch. He opens his eyes again and reaches for the brush, methodically running the item through his long black hair – why don't you cut it? It makes you look feminine. Because it's always been long, would feel weird if it was short – stroking and smoothing it.

"I will see you on Thursday. Let us both play nice, yes?"

"Thursday?" The moment it's out of his mouth Yao regrets saying it, and the brush stills for a second before resuming. He's falling for Ivan's bait. Rationalizes that he will play along for now – because that's what you usually do, play along without any intent to do anything – because he likes to understand and to hold things higher then hands can reach. He has always been fond of information.

"Ah, perhaps Yao has not yet heard?"

There is silence as Yao decodes that playful tone in Ivan's voice, - it doesn't take long enough, he thinks. Shouldn't be able to know exactly what it is implying within seconds. He does not like it one bit.

"Ivan, what are you alluding towards?" Yao knows already, can smell it over the distance; from Mars to Pluto from Pluto to Mars. Why give Ivan the satisfaction – say what I know you will say, speak as I know that you will.

"Who would you expect to die unfulfilled? In a ditch perhaps, if we had ditches..."

Yao's blood flows and coagulates cold. He doesn't care, promises himself that. He's far too old – he almost laughs at that, it's a funny thought – to be overcome with grief and to anguish like some star crossed youth like Ivan would want him to. They both know it, but Ivan is trying hard to get a rise – because Ivan likes him rough and ragged and real, has never liked his façade; his supposed inner peace. Ivan has never cared for liars.

Yao refuses to give him the satisfaction.

"Arthur?"

"нет, not that kind of a ditch; broken but not bleeding. This one splattered, made a right mess of a fine sidewalk"

He can not say that he expected it – because you're human, and humans do not expect the worst, or are you? – but it does not chill him like it should. Jaded? Perhaps.

"Do we know what has transpired and how to mend this impasse?" A question that has already been answered; Yao knows what Ivan will do, but will let him speak – because I shouldn't know what he's going to say. I don't want to know what he's going to say.

"We can find a replacement, da?"

You've already found one.

Alfred doesn't wake with a start. He sifts into consciousness, still not sure that he is awake until he spots light and notices that the sun is peaking out of his window. He squints for a few moments then rolls over. His chest hurts and his body aches, can't bring himself to ever want to move. It's like he ran a marathon, his legs are cramping and jelly-like. He wonders if they'll move when he does actually have to stumble out of bed.

An hour later, when he finally gives up on ignoring his inability to continue sleeping, he struggles out of bed and his legs actually do give out on him. He slumps to the floor with a small thud and huffs. It takes him a while, but he forces his legs to move, and when he gets up he stumbles around his room in an attempt to stop limping – cause seriously, there's no way he's letting anyone see Alfred F. Jones limping. It would give them the wrong impression.

"Took you long enough, fuckin' yank." Alfred freezes and turns. Sitting in front of the TV, playing something - with headphones on no less - is a thing; 'he's an alien,' his mind supplies helpfully. The thing – Tony - seems to be enjoying himself, though Alfred can't understand how he can like that slow paced horror game. I mean, all you have is a flashlight; no huge guns or high tech explosions, just creepy things that you run away from.

His mind supplies that Tony likes those types of games. Alfred doesn't question.

"Ummmmm…what are you doing?"

"Don't distract me. I've only got two more encounters before the big boss. So shut the hell up."

"But-"

"When I'm fucking done, please." Alfred pouts to himself, takes a seat next to the alien and watches.

Within ten minutes they're yelling at one another – "go to the left! Your other left! No, the spider things in there! Oh God is that a ghost!"

"God dammit! Can't an alien play a mother fucking game in peace? For Christ's sake shut your fucking face!"

"But it's coming, you have to get away from it! Don't let it bite you!" – as Tony's head rattles in irritation and Alfred waves his arms then covers his eyes then grabs onto Tony in anticipation.

Matthew enters the room to that scene.

"Alfred, shut up," Matthew groans loudly. He looks at his brother, catches a glimpse of the game on the screen and his frown deepens. "You don't even like that game, why are you playing it at this hour in the morning?"

Alfred turns to his sibling, sputtering and trying to explain. Matthew huffs - ignores him - and walks right back out, shutting the door in his wake. Alfred continues to look at the closed door in confusion before he turns back to Tony.

"Um, did you introduce yourself to Mattie? Cause I kinda thought he'd have a few choice words to say about you and he totally didn't…."

Tony rattles his head again in irritation and does not turn to address Alfred. "Because he can't see me, dipshit."

Alfred mouths an 'Oh' and nods his head slowly. "'Cause I'm the hero and Mattie isn't?"

"Something like that."

Alfred brightens and straightens himself just a little. Then as the fact starts to sink in so does everything else. Alfred's face scrunches in utter confusion and he side glances Tony.

"So, um, this is a weird question but…..why exactly did I turn into a woman?"

Tony rattles his head faster in irritation, the clicking noise that accompanies the action suddenly striking Alfred as very strange.

"When I'm fucking finished!"

"I'd rather not. You'll remember on your own." Arthur's speech isn't slurred or even off beat.

Despite what everyone seems to think Francis knows what an articulate and intelligent person Arthur can be when he's had just the right amount of alcohol. Just enough to loosen his tongue, to let him shine; it's a hard mix, but there is always about a half an hour when Arthur is truly himself. Before he is a raving lunatic more apt to maim than to converse, but after he is a desperate addict looking for his next fix.

Sometimes Francis wonders if these short spurts are worth their destructive friendship wrought of lies and deceptions and mistrusts. He need only experience it once more to reassert his opinion.

"I am. Remembering, that is. Just little things, like the language; if someone spoke it to me, I don't know if I would understand, but…"

"You would. It's yours, has been for a rather long time. But that will not erase the unfamiliarity. Never really dissipates, that."

Francis would laugh if he wasn't hanging off of Arthur's every word. Much of what Arthur says is still a riddle; something to dissect, to pull apart and mangle and then maybe to understand.

He wants to ask questions and get answers, but if he pushes too hard there will be nothing left, and Arthur will turn volatile. So it's best to let him just go as he is.

Francis has every intention to do so, but his cell phone rings. He picks the item from his pocket and looks between it and Arthur. If he leaves now it's a good chance he won't get anything else from the blond. Francis flips open the phone none the less and excuses himself from the room.

When he returns – confused and possibly afraid – Arthur is gone. Despite the healing back and the corrective measures Francis labored over the night before so that Arthur can move this morning, Arthur is gone. Francis curses, clicks his tongue and moves to the bed room. Perhaps some rest is in order.

Alfred, being the patient person he is – "What do you mean there's a secret boss you want to get first!" "How long has it been now that you started playing?" "Oh come on, this game is such utter bullshit, that can't be the real storyline, it doesn't make any sense!" "How can you stand this its so –Holy Mother of God that Thing's going to EAT YOU!" – sat and watched as Tony played his game.

After a good hour the alien was finally wrapping it up. Tony watched as the end credits rolled on screen, twitching at a few names here and there. Since the credits were always the most boring part about finishing a game, Alfred felt no remorse in starting to talk again.

"So seriously, I've got a lot of questions to ask."

"I might give you some answers. But it is only the third chapter, so don't expect much."

Alfred gives the alien a strange sort of look before continuing. "Ok, so what exactly happened back in the alley?"

"You transformed into America," Tony deadpans, obviously not giving much effort into the answer. Alfred, in response pouts and scrunches his eyebrows in irritation

"But that doesn't tell me anything!" he mumbles.

"Not my problem. I did answer the question, be grateful yank."

Alfred offers a small glower before shaking off the failed response. "Ok, fine. So I'm assuming that 'America' is my secret feminine superhero alter ego and that it's kinda like how Superman has to keep his glasses on when he's Clark Kent so that no one knows who he is, but instead I turn into a super hot babe in a mini skirt with a pretty impressive rack. Am I right?"

Tony turns to him, and if Alfred is right the alien looks rather impressed. "Surprisingly, yes. You're not as dumb as everyone thinks you are."

Alfred thinks over the response for a few seconds then shrugs. "I guess boobs are a better disguise than glasses….Ok! So I'm a transgender super hero! Next question!"

"Didn't know you knew that word…" Tony's mumble goes unnoticed as Alfred continues with his questioning.

"What was that monster?"

"And you were on a roll and everything, we did this the first chapter! It's an alien! Get it through your thick skull!" Tony's head rattles in irritation again.

"Oh ya, you did say it was an alien! Wow, this is going much better then I thought it would." He pondered for a few more minutes before speaking his next inquiry.

"How did I get home yesterday? All I remember is being on top of the building…" iand snuggling up to England's warm, inviting bosom/i.

"England carried you home. I'm far too delicate to be lugging your dead weight anywhere."

Now this surprises Alfred. He tries to imagine little adorable England dragging him home, and it's hard to picture. He's not a slight man, and England is a rather small girl in comparison. Not to mention all of the other problems this event would bring about… "How did England know where I live? And how did she get me into my bedroom without at least letting my parents know? I'm sure if they had found out they'd be up here asking fifty million questions…"

Tony shrugs. "England has probably known where you live for a while now. It wouldn't surprise me if you were being watched well before I came into the picture. In fact, I'd venture a bet that England is here because you are."

Alfred perks at the implications of that statement. If England is just as interested in him as he is of her than them becoming an item would be a hell of a lot easier. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean the Moon. England is probably on the Moon because you are."

Alfred mulls over the question for a second, and then brightens. "So, like, I'm the main hero, and she's my super amazing sidekick. And because we're fated to be the best alien/monster/what ever the fuck fighting machines that she was inexplicably drawn to my amazing…ness?"

Tony rattles his head again in obvious irritation. "Sure, why not? Sounds good."

Alfred beams. So snagging a date with his beautiful sidekick should be a synch. Every sidekick pines after their hero, it's a normal convention in super hero movies, so by default England is going to fawn over him and totally want to go on that date he suggests. "So when do I get to see my beautiful, amazing sidekick again!"

"Knowing the limey you won't catch another glimpse till another monster shows up. But the minute one does, she'll be there." Tony looks disinterested now, he's fingering the controller.

"Oh…" Alfred can't hold back the disappointment in his voice. "You mean even though we're destined to be an inseparable team of amazingness, I can't meet her again? Like, when we aren't saving the world 'n stuff? Ya know, like for coffee or maybe a trip to the mall?"

"Her? Nope, no can do, unless you try to find him. You could probably meet him, actually might already have now that I think about it."

Alfred looked at the alien for a few moments, as his brain tried to wrap itself around what exactly Tony was talking about. And then the utter shock dawned on him. If he had a female alter ego, it would stand to reason that England had a male counterpart as well. So that beautiful shapely temptress that had plagued his wet dreams for nearly two years now was, in all actuality, a man.

All coherent thought stopped at that point.

All Alfred can imagine is his beautiful England - well-placed curves, proportionate bosom, cascading golden hair, adorable little pout adorning her face – turning into a distinctly unfeminine man – unkempt straw like hair, gangly arms that didn't quite seem sturdy enough, eyebrows as big as they came, and a perpetual scowl that made the man seem much older than he really was.

His first real thought was that he had to burn the pictures; every last one of them. And the hard drive of clips and information would have to be smashed. It was the only way. 'Cause Alfred F. Jones was not gay, maybe Matthew was a little flamboyant around the edges, but not Alfred F. Jones. He was totally not going Batman and Robin for England.

Ravis hangs up the phone, knowing very well that he will cry himself to sleep tonight. Even with Peter there he won't be able to help it. He moves back into the class room and collects his things. When the teacher moves towards him in obvious irritation he gives her a pathetic look.

"One of my friends passed away."

She obviously looks taken aback but recovers quickly; tells him that he had best work hard none the less for the upcoming tests and that his parents don't pay her to simply let him walk out of tutoring. She lets him go regardless, with what is suppose to be a reassuring pat on the back. It really isn't, and the awkwardness of it makes him want to wail.

He rushes out as quickly as he can and when he spots Peter waiting at the school's gate kicking rocks Ravis does everything in his power not to simply grab onto him and hold. So he slows his speed and walks evenly, taking a measured breath every time he takes a step.

When Peter does actually take notice he looks surprised, then very excited to see him - the younger bounds over.

"You're out early!" Ravis offers his best smile. He imagines it looks quite strained, he's never been good at smiling at the best of times, and this is surely not the best of times. But Peter is always happy to see him, and that is refreshing; it's only fair for Ravis to do the same.

"I'm doing well on my scores, so I don't have to work as hard." It isn't a lie, but it has nothing to do with why he's out so early. If the actual subject came up Peter wouldn't know what to say, and the two would walk together in silence, and the air probably wouldn't lift till the next day. Ravis loves when Peter just babbles, so he won't say anything at all on the subject.

"That's great! I knew you'd do well! I told you, just have to keep at it! Don't take shit from anyone, always put in 356%!"

Peter continues to babble as they start to trek away from the school. It's a long way to Peter's house, so they've got quite a while to walk - plenty of time for Peter to talk about everything and nothing and for Ravis to enjoy every second of it. His mind wanders to the phone call. Its something he doesn't want to think about, because it hits to close to home. It should have occurred to him before – he's had tons of close calls – but to think that some thing could go so terribly wrong was alien. It took him by complete surprise.

It's chilling, and Ravis wonders how he's lasted this long if someone as strong as- "Hey, are you listening? Don't space out on me again!" Peter is poking his shoulder with that slight pout that still somehow looks like he's smiling.

Ravis blushes, stutters, and mutters an apology. Peter doesn't notice anything wrong and continues again. Surely that is normal, that he wouldn't notice. Because Peter has not known him that long, surely not as long as Ravis has known Peter. But even that is questionable. Some days Ravis has known him for what seems like forever, and some days Peter is a new being; something exciting and difficult to understand. But it's fine, better that way in fact. Ravis takes things as they come. Maybe he is simply young, but these things don't bother him as much. Peter is his biggest reminder, and he is very fond of Peter.

Ravis looks at the younger and wonders how close they'll get this time before something happens. He abandons the thought instantly and instead counts the stars that appear as the sun slowly disappears behind the skyline.

He eventually gets Peter to do the same, alternating numbers between themselves and making a game out of it. Both end up tripping on nothing before they've arrived.

So Tony had warned him that it was a bad idea. And Alfred - being Alfred – had done it any way.

After the somewhat life-changing realization that England was indeed not a she, Alfred had decided that the rational thing to do would not be to mope around the house like a star-crossed lover – which as far as he was concerned, he definitely was – and instead to continue working out the puzzles that had taken place the day before.

With high ambitions to actually answer the questions that Tony had refused to answer – and to forget his masculine woes - Alfred had set out of his house to a better area, leaving Tony in his room to start on another game. Granted, it had been quite a challenge with how his legs ached and protested at his every movement, but Alfred had never been one to be cowed by physical pain. He simply ignored it.

It was early enough that the park a few blocks from his house was still relatively deserted. So Alfred slipped into the area, and walked to his secret spot - a secluded section hidden by a grove of overgrown trees and poison ivy - and despite all of Tony's earlier warnings, transformed.

This time was similar to the last in respect that it was the same sensations. But this time Alfred was ready for them. When the world exploded into color he reached with his mind, just as En- as he had been told to. But it was too quick to grasp anything concrete. The minute the transformation was done America was left with an unsettling feeling that she was missing something. A light aching had taken root in her system and was rapidly spreading. It made her feel empty; like a cup that was meant to be filled but still dejectedly remained in the cupboard unused.

And strangely, her legs didn't hurt any more. They still felt like they should, but they moved with great ease at every activity she tried. She jumped around, stretched, and even did a cart wheel, but her legs did not ache as they had just a few moments before, there was still that nagging sensation in her head that told her they should, but they did not protest. It was strange, but altogether welcome.

America ignored the new sensations and turned to the bag she'd brought with her. Out of the bag she produced a small mirror – an item she'd had to swipe from Matthew before leaving – and took a gander at herself.

What met her was pretty awesome. She'd already discovered that her rack was rather large – a part of her was very happy about this, though at the same time they seemed too large to her liking. They weren't as well-shaped and cute as say En- never mind. They were good. Fucking awesome.

Her hair wasn't too long – it didn't seem like it would get in the way – but it curled and pooled around her head, giving her a bubbly sort of look. Her face was less defined, more rounded and cute in comparison to the normally long and handsome face.

She looked for a few more minutes before winking at the mirror and pursing her lips in a mock kiss. America then quickly put the mirror back and looked herself over once more; even brought a finger down through her collar to poke at her prominent chest. It was soft, really, really soft, and she felt the blood rushing to her head at the thought. She quickly brought her hands up to cover the blush growing steadily across her face.

As loath as America was to admit it, this was the first time she'd actually felt breasts. She'd been saving her self for En- for nothing. She'd been busy, no time for chasing women.

She waited for a few moments, trying to calm herself from such disturbing thoughts before moving on. America was just about to tackle the biggest problem of all – what was under the skirt – when she noticed something. Tony was running towards her, his arms and legs flapping in a way that would be funny if he didn't look so utterly unhappy – America didn't question how she knew that Tony was angry, just accepted that she did know.

America was about to greet him when something behind her exploded.

Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter and all of the Alerts added. I'm glad to see that this strange little idea has some support. So, thank you everyone! Reviews are lovely, and I would love to hear from some of you following this! Thank you for your time.